No, no, officer. Wait right there. Before you tell me why you’re here, I do hope you’ll forgive me for keeping you waiting. I thought I heard a knock but wasn’t entirely sure. I was…occupied. Tidying up a little mess in the kitchen. But now that I’ve opened the door, what seems to be the trouble? Or perhaps—how delightful—there’s no trouble at all. Not for me, at least. My life is a pristine, trouble-free zone.
You, on the other hand—have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re glowing. Truly radiant.
Oh, this? You mean the dress? I see your eyes lingering. It’s hard not to, isn’t it? I’m wearing mother’s dress today, and I’ve never felt more alive. You really ought to try it, officer. The fabric is exquisite—a featherlight satin that clings like a lover. It doesn’t just cover you; it caresses you. A quiet, radiant power seeps into your bones, filling the hollow places you didn’t even know existed.
No, it’s not my dress—don’t be ridiculous—it’s hers. Is that a problem? Will you arrest me for finding myself? For stepping into beauty in its purest, most unapologetic form?
I know what you’re thinking. People love to sneer at a man in a dress. They clutch their pearls, whisper about normalcy—decency. But where is that written? Is it etched in stone, handed down from some trembling mountaintop? Is it in one of the books of lies that skipped the Nazi burn piles? An ancient text saying the earth was flat and burning witches made crops grow? Because let me tell you something, officer—those books, even the Bible—all written by men and we are wrong about so many things so much of the time.
But then we open up our eyes.
I’m stunning in this dress, aren’t I? Admit it. I’m radiant. In fact, I am unstoppable. You can feel that can’t you? I bet you’ve never done this—worn a dress. You don’t seem like the type—but they never do, do they? Trust me. Try it. Your whole life will flash before your eyes, and you’ll say to yourself:
“All I ever wanted was freedom…why did I wait so long?”
This isn’t just fabric you know. What I’m talking about is liberation. When I wear it, the world shifts on its axis to accommodate me. The air tastes sweeter. The ground is softer beneath my feet. I’ve never walked taller. And you—you, officer—what’s stopping you? Imagine slipping into something with a little shimmer, a little swish. Something like this. Maybe with some lipstick, something bold and luscious. What shade would you choose? Something vibrant and tested only on the most brilliant, sophisticated chimpanzees, their tiny faces radiant, painted with blush and mascara–with enlightenment. If you’re gonna go, go all in! Am I right?
Can’t you picture it?
This dress, these pearls—they belong to my mother, but they’re mine now, too. They belong to anyone brave enough to step into their power. Anyone can wear a dress, officer. Man, woman, both, neither—something altogether untethered and golden—like the yolk spilling from an egg, freshly cracked. Life comes from eggs. Once cracked the things inside are free to become so many things: Omelet. Sunny-side up…Scrambled.
Mother always said there’s many ways to crack an egg…
Do you dream, officer? I dream often. I dream of towering stilettos—seven inches high—no, eight! Strutting through the aisles of the grocery store, turning every head and breaking every heart. You know I would too. I’d let you see how it looks from behind—but, well…
I know I’m sexy because when I’m dressed in this, the mirror doesn’t show me a reflection—it’s a revelation…
And we literally just met. Maybe I’ll show you. Maybe. Not yet.
I dream of spreading a picnic blanket in the park, dining under the sun in this very dress, eating watercress sandwiches in the company of the ghosts of those bold enough to take this path before—live their truth beneath the sun—to walk so I could run!
I dream of living—truly living—without fear, without shame, without restraint. Do you? Do you dream of liberation? Of feeling the world yield to your authenticity? Or to you is it just another word? Liberation. Liberation isn’t just a word; it’s a reckoning.
Do you dream of walking into a room and not shrinking—expanding? Can I ask you, have you ever done drugs, officer? If you have, you really should try this. I have. Don’t arrest me. Drugs are illusions; an escape. This—this is more powerful than any escape.
Exhilarating.
It’s reality turned up to 11.
I understand your hesitation. I felt it once, too. Before I found this dress. Before I found myself. It’s not just clothing. It’s transformation. It’s stepping into a version of yourself you never knew existed. It’s shedding the weight of expectations like a shawl and discovering you can fly.
I can see it in your eyes—you want to understand, don’t you? A man in his mother’s dress. There’s a flicker, a glimmer of curiosity. That’s where it begins. Curiosity is the gateway to freedom.
But you wouldn’t understand, would you? No. Not yet. You haven’t taken the first step.
What’s that? Why am I wearing the dress? I told you—I’m wearing mother’s dress because she gave it to me. Her final gift. She told me I could have it. “Take it, darling,” she said. “Take it all. Take whatever you want!”
It was the last thing she said.
Her last gift to me was permission. Permission to embrace myself. Permission to be unafraid. And now, here I stand, wrapped in her final words. Her dress. Her pearls. Not because I have to—but because I choose to; and officer, that’s the secret.
It’s about choice. It’s about walking into the world as the most audaciously, unapologetic version of yourself. It’s about breaking every rule that tries to break you and then, the people that made those rules? You break them too.
I can feel you hesitating. I told you, felt it, too—before I slipped into the silk, before I slipped into myself. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? That first step? But after that, the world becomes yours.
So no, officer, I won’t put down the weapon or the dress.
No–no. Keep your hands right where they were. I’ve already cleaned up one mess today. Don’t make me clean another.
I really don’t want to but I think we both know I willlllll.
I won’t stop wearing it. I can’t. Don’t you see? Not now or tomorrow; not ever. All I had to do was take a leap of faith. As it falls around you for the first time you realize: it’s not just a dress. It’s freedom and if you’re brave enough—and bold enough—it’s all yours. I’m telling you, you could feel this too. Trust me. You’ll see. Once I put it on, My God! I’ve never felt more alive!
Now, come inside. I won’t ask you again.
I see the irony of all this, I really do—it’s almost funny, isn’t it? Freedom, up here, for your mind. Enlightenment. That’s what this is. It’s just a shift in states—how you see the world and then how you see yourself. We always think that taking the first big step toward change is a threat. But look at me! Look at me now. I’ve done it. I am proof. You can be too.
The first step is hardest, but it’s the way everything begins. You just have to take the first step. Then the next. And look at that—you’re already inside. See? You’re doing it! Doesn’t it feel exhilarating? Each step afterward gets easier. I promise.
Aren’t you happy you’ve decided to embrace this—to let me show you? Don’t worry. You will be. Right this way. Keep going. Can’t you feel it? Each step you’re physically getting lighter. See, I wasn’t lying. Your true freedom awaits.
Mother’s closet is just upstairs.
I never knew she was hiding so much inside.
Wait till you see.
When you do, you’ll literally die.